


All the words you’ve ever said, they make me ache (inside my head)

by MatildaSwan



Category: Holby City
Genre: #nice, Alpaca Wool, Alternative Universe - University Lecturers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Female Character, Chair Sex, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Hair-pulling, Inappropriate Workplace Relations, Miscommunication, a v happy ending, narrative events are framed from the perspective of principle character, thus information is presented from their emotional pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: Dr. Serena Campbell, PhD. had such high hopes when she heard about the newest staff member of Holby University, high hopes of finally having a friend to add to the slew of colleagues who bore her, at best, begrudging respect. She though those hopes met, when the two of them finally meet, when they get along as even better than Serena hoped.Then they start teaching together and Serena realises she was a fool to hope. She has never had a colleague get under her skin in quite the way Bernie manages to, whose every action manages to irk Serena's till her skin itches, and it is only a matter of time before Serena breaks and berates her newfound colleague for her every transgression.Only when Serena does finally snap, Bernie's response is nothing at all like she expects, and so much more than anything she could have thought to hope for.





	All the words you’ve ever said, they make me ache (inside my head)

**Author's Note:**

> CW: one instance of negative word association + biphobic rhetoric (get recked Edward), also Serena has a whole bunch of issues around unfulfilled emotional wants and they pretty much shape her world view.
> 
> Shout out to [ktlsyrtis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis) for being an amazing beta and knowing extremely useful things about alpaca wool and [withkissesfour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withkissesfour/pseuds/withkissesfour) for being a being wonderful and beta-ing and letting me flail at them while I worked on this ~~piece of sin~~ fic and also [lesbianquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianquill/pseuds/lesbianquill) for being a filthy sin friend 
> 
> Strap in for the angst and the sin, y'all, cos that's all this AU is, so enjoy!

Dr. Serena Campbell, PhD., had been at Holby University for five years. Five years of arduous teaching and tutoring for the same department. Five years of schmoozing and shoulder rubbing within the school. Five years of letting her soul be sucked out by the internal politics of the university and poring herself into her research as respite. Five years of loving this job, for all the people she works with leave something to be desired.

Not professionally, all consummate and outstanding in their own fields, but personally. They are all colleagues, none of them friends, though she will admit it is better now that it used to be. They had hated her at first, Michael Spence most of all. They thought her too quick, too clever, not quiet enough; too set on reorganising each curriculum to keep up with the times and pulling the department along with them. Never mind that was why Hanssen had hired her in the first place. They had all assumed her too much mouth and not enough brain. It took all of them months to realise she really was just that good, only for them to resent her for it in the end.

Doctor di Lucca joining the department had been a nice surprise, as she found herself with someone to chat to over the occasional drink after work. She enjoyed having someone to commiserate with navigating Holby’s horridly limited dating pool when bi but not at all interested in either spring chickens or couples looking for unicorns. But Raf had only stayed a year before leaving for greener pastures with his new boyfriend and the four children Raf now calls his own.

No one new had joined the department for longer than a semester since then and Serena had long since given up on being liked by her colleagues. She made herself content with their begrudging respect, until she heard that their newest hire was to be permanent, external, and probably a stranger. She had let hope rise just a little, thinking that a new face might mean a fresh start at having a colleague on friendly terms. Then she heard the name and felt that hope rise higher and finally admitted just how much she wanted a friend.

She was familiar with Doctor Wolfe’s work, even felt the occasional pang of admiration for it; familiar with the woman herself, for all they had never met. She had been hearing stories about the woman for years, all tales of horror told by men sneering at her showboating and flare and arrogance, most frequently from Ric Griffin. 

The former colleague from two universities ago had brought up the same story more times that she could count: of a conference where the woman stood centre stage in the middle of question time and suggested Ric might find his time better spent getting laid than attempting to critique work he so clearly could not get to grips with. 

She ought to be tired of his grumbling by now, the amount of times she had heard about it whenever they ended up at the same conference or were in each other’s town for a time, but nothing could be further from the truth. She always managed to cover her snort, to commiserate with her friend as appropriate. But she knew Ric and what he was like and she always thought that perhaps he had rather earnt it. 

Just as she thought the woman had rather earned the right to be arrogant, given the quality of her work, and could say anything she liked as far as Serena is concerned. Not that she is arrogant at all, Serena finds, when they finally meet in the flesh at the first planning meeting before the semester starts. 

Serena spies the head of messy blonde hair a few inches longer than Serena’s own framing walk into the room, notices her fingers locked together about a coffee in her hand, the bewildered looking face at being in a roomful of people greeting each other like old friends. She obviously has no idea what she is supposed to do with herself and Serena takes pity. Beckons her over and pulls back a chair. The look she gets in return is almost disarmingly grateful. 

“You must be Berenice Wolfe,” she says as the rest of the department continues chattering. “Serena Campbell,” she introduces herself. “Delighted to meet you.”

She earns herself a bright smile and firm handshake. Serena smiles back just as bright. 

“Bernie, please,” she insists, settling in her seat as the rest of the room follows suit.

They sit awkwardly for all of three seconds before Bernie leans forward to whisper a joke about the stuffiness of the boardroom in Serena’s ear. Until Bernie leans forward to _include_ Serena in a joke, rather than make her butt of one. 

Serena’s face tilts downwards to hide her smirk and she feels the edges of her fringe brush at her eyebrows. She covers her mouth to muffle a soft giggle and feels the shag of her hair tickle just below her ear. She tucks the cropped locks back as she turns her face slightly to whisper that she agrees completely; turns her face fully to see Bernie smile even brighter than before. 

Serena would have said more to keep Bernie smiling if Hanssen hadn’t called the meeting to a start. She settles to keep herself content with the occasional smirk while their colleagues bicker and argue. She is pleased to receive more than a few pointed looks from Bernie in return. 

Until the conversation turns to the department’s introductory class. Serena expects to maintain responsibility; she likes breaking in the new students and moulding them before they have a chance to learn too many bad habits. So she is surprised when the suggestion that she co-coordinate the class with Bernie is put forward. Apparently Bernie is surprised as well, given the face she shoots Serena: one which quickly turns to delight when Serena agrees to the arrangement.

The meeting ends with the specifics of the semester decided and Serena reasons it is late enough to justify a drink. She offers Bernie an invitation to join and is thrilled when Bernie accepts. Thrilled when Bernie suggests they go the whole hog and split a bottle. Thrilled when they get on even easier outside of the boardroom when they have room to speak louder than whispers.

Serena gets a cab home with Bernie’s parting offer of another drink and a chat some time soon ringing in her ears; thinks that she was right to hope to find a friend in Bernie because it seems like Bernie wants to be her friend too.

Then they actually start working together and Serena realises she was a fool to hope. 

*

They do not get a chance at that drink and a chat before they organise to meet and flesh out the specifics of their class. 

Serena settles in her office, her plan to blend their specialities in joined seminars already set out on her desk, and waits for Bernie. She is ten minutes late and Serena is not impressed. She has coffee though, which softens the blow somewhat, even if it is the wrong order, which Serena realises once she has taken a rather large mouthful of milky lukewarm coffee.

She cannot help the grimace.

“Sorry, I should have just asked how you take it instead of guessing,” Bernie says sheepishly. “I can go grab another one?”

“No, it was kind of you to try.” Serena waves her off. “For future reference, strong and hot is all I care about.” 

Bernie nods, face serious for a second, before smiling slightly. “To business?” 

Serena nods and launches into her current plan. She barely gets halfway through when Bernie interrupts her. 

“Actually, I was thinking we split the classes, that way we can focus on our specialities and only one of us needs to be in the lecture at a time.” 

Serena pauses. It is a valid point, and a good plan. So is hers. 

“I thought it’d make balancing the rest of the class load easier,” Bernie adds at Serena’s pause. “Give us both more time for research.”

Serena considers, mulls it over in her head, before nodding. Bernie beams. 

“Great, so if we split the work you’ve already done into separate classes—bulk them out a bit, of course—all we’ve got left to do is choose alternating weeks and sort out the assessments, right?”

Serena nods slowly—it is an extremely basic summary but it is not wrong, per se—before following Bernie’s lead and choosing even weeks. 

“Oh good,” Bernie says with a smile. “I did always prefer odd numbers.” Serena just blinks at her so Bernie continues. “Assignments?”

Serena nods. “I’ve had some ideas about that.”

Bernie smiles, face knowing and smug, and holds out a hand. “Let’s have a look then.”

Serena furrows her brow at Bernie on the other side of the desk. 

“At what you’ve already got planned,” she clarifies. “I know you’ve got something, overachiever like you, how could you not?”

The fondness in Bernie’s voice gets lost as Serena ducks her head and sucks in a breath rummaging through her drawer for the folder of notes she had already typed up. 

Her ex-husband had called her that when they met, when they were married, during the divorce three years later. It might have started as a compliment, a mark of charmed endearment, but it became deriding, dismissive, demeaning. It is definitely not one now. Certainly not after the way he said it, one last time, after the lawyers had left and the dust settled. 

He had left a voicemail, maudlin and drunk if his slur was any indication, after the grapevine had informed him of Serena’s first partner post-divorce.

“Never could settle for anything, could you?” She had heard slurred down the line. “Couldn’t be content with one sex like the rest of us, had to try out fucking girls too, like some perverted _overachiever_.” Serena’s blood had boiled so loud she had barely heard the rest of the message. “Might have been nice if I’d known when we were together. Would have been hot to see you and another woman…” 

The message had ended with a burp and then static. She has deleted it with shaky hands and tears in her eyes and never said why she was crying when Fleur had found her shaking on the kitchen floor ten minutes later. 

Now no matter who says it or how they say it, overachiever never sounds like a compliment.

Serena keeps her eyes down while she keeps searching through her second drawer and does not see the smile Bernie shines at the top of her head. It has faded by the time she is ready to look back up again. 

“Here’s what I’ve got so far,” Serena says, keeping her voice light, passing over the folder. “Let me know what you think.”

Bernie does let Serena know, in minute detail, exactly what she thinks. Has something to say about the way Serena has structured each and every detail of their assignments. Tells Serena in no uncertain terms exactly where she thinks Serena has gone wrong.

Serena stays tight-lipped as she scrawls down the last of Bernie’s suggestions in the margins. Ends the meeting as soon as she can. Brushes off Bernie’s offer of a drink once they have finished

“No, sorry, not today,” Serena replies, opening the door for Bernie and pulling on her coat.

She watches Bernie as she walks past her and out the door. Thinks for a second that Bernie might press the offer. Thinks that Bernie might ask her again. Thinks she might want Bernie to ask again; to give her the opportunity to douse herself in wine and snap at Bernie for being a prig and then both of them apologise. 

But Serena never finds out exactly what she thinks, because Bernie does not ask again, and Serena does not think about how that makes her feel.

“Okay,” Bernie says instead. Makes a tiny attempt at a smile as she brushes past Serena.

Serena watches her on her way down the hall and out of the building and does not follow.

*

Serena keeps their interactions to emails over the next fortnight, finalising course details electronically rather than in person despite Bernie’s offers. Serena cannot be bear the thought of having to handle more criticism in person. 

They do not see one another until classes start. 

Serena walks into the lecture hall, surprised to see this many students here this early. Starts setting up before standing awkwardly for fifteen minutes while the rest of the class wanders in. 

Bernie arrives a minute before class starts, a coffee in each hand, a bit breathless and her hair even messier than usual.

Serena brandishes her wristwatch with a glare.

“Sorry,” Bernie says, head flopped to the side and the picture of contrition. “The traffic was terrible and then I couldn’t find a parking space and the line at Pulses moved much slower than I’d expected,” she rambles before holding out a coffee-filled hand. “I thought you might like one too?”

Serena frowns at her. _What’s your game?_ she thinks as she accepts the coffee.

“Thank you,” she says, begrudging but grateful all the same. The line had been too long to comprehend when she had walked past on her way here, and she could use the pick-me-up. She takes a sip, expecting the worst, only to find it is exactly her order, and flashes Bernie a small smile.  

She quashes it quickly and puts the coffee on the desk beside the stand and jerks her head for Bernie to move out of the way. Bernie takes the hint and turns towards the students as she moves to stand beside Serena.

“It’s neither Starbucks or fifteen minutes late, so none of you can hold it against me,” she jokes into the crowd with a puppy-like grin and gets a chuckle from the students in return. 

Serena waits for the tittering to die down and begins by introducing herself. The silence she hears in between her name and Bernie adding herself to the mix is the highlight of the lecture. 

The class ends and Serena is so very tired of Bernie interrupting her before she has finished and talking over the end of her sentences.So desperate to have the last word, Serena throws out a reminder to everyone of her consultation hours, should anyone need her, and that tutorial attendance is strongly encouraged, as she hears the first shuffles of the class packing up. 

A few students hang back, approach Bernie while Serena shuts down the system, and start chatting. They do not include her. Serena answers another student’s query about compulsory attendance—never mind that they just covered that—and she walks out, leaving Bernie and the students behind. 

She walks back to her office with a cloud over her head. It stays there for the rest of the week, until they have finished their first set of tutorials. They had agreed to take the first week together, to make sure all their students had the same information. Though she is hates to admit it, Bernie does have a way with the students. 

So Serena is far from surprised when their attendance doubles from the first to the second week along with a slew of new enrollments. Remains unsurprised when her tute numbers change in the third week as students transfer from her classes to Bernie’s. 

She might not be surprised but she hates it all the same. Hates how Bernie can make them listen so easily, can teach them so well, and all at her expense. 

Not enough to actually talk to her colleague about it, of course, because what good would that do anyway? Bernie is a smart woman, she must realise what she is doing, so she must be doing it deliberately. So Serena does not mention it.

Not during any of their debriefs in her office, nor after their first class together, or after their first week of tutes. She certainly does not mention it after Serena’s first class without Bernie, when Bernie drops by her office afterward, unscheduled. Bernie had said she just wanted to see how things went, with the class, but Serena is sure she was picking—assessing for faults—because what other reason could she have for asking?

She never mentions it, not even after their next department meeting a month into classes, when Serena walks into the conference room in oversized and extremely wooly sweater.

“Well, don’t you look comfortable!” Bernie exclaims, raking her eyes over Serena’s jumper. Serena purses her lips while Bernie continues. “Warm?”

“Very, actually,” Serena replies, runs her hand over her stomach to feel the wool on her palm. “It’s alpaca wool and the hollow fibres make it much warmer than regular sheep wool,” she explains. “It’s a lot softer, too,” she finds herself adding.

“Really?” Bernie says, brow furrowed and curious.

Serena’s eyes spark up as reams of information, originally learnt in the kitchen of a Peruvian farm nestled in the middle of a mountainside with Fleur’s hand warm on her knee under the dark wood table, flow to the tip her tongue and right out of her mouth.

Bernie’s eyes go wide as Serena starts to rattle off information about fibre density and scale surfaces, crinkling at the corners with a wide, bright smile as Serena starts explaining the steps involved in preparing the wool to make yarn.

Bernie listens, enraptured, adding the occasional hum whenever Serena pauses for effect as she breaks down the steps involved in spinning. Until Serena realises the rest of the department has filtered into the room and she has rambled on for quite a while and stops herself. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on at you.” 

“No, no, don’t apologise, there’s no need. It’s fascinating,” Bernie says with a look on her face as if she does actually find the topic interesting. 

Serena smiles, ever so fond of the softest, comfiest piece of knitwear she has ever worn, and holds out an arm towards Bernie. “Here, feel.”

Bernie smiles for a moment before reaching forward to grip the cuff and run her thumb over the material. 

“Oh, you’re right, it’s remarkably soft,” Bernie says, a hint of delight in her voice. “It’s definitely more your style than mine though. Think I’ll stick with trench coats and gloves this winter.”

Serena tenses at the backhanded compliment and looks down at her feet, fighting the urge to yank her hand away from Bernie’s and the knuckles still brushing her wrist.

“Oh, well,” Serena bristles, retrieving her hand and shoving it in the pocket of her trousers. “To each their own, I suppose.”

She looks up to see the edges of Bernie’s mouth falling flat back to neutral. She keeps her face neutral too; keeps it that way and decidedly not looking at Bernie all through the meeting, no matter how many times she catches the woman glancing at her out of the corner of her eye.

Serena does not mention it and just seethes, quietly and by herself, about how upset she is that Bernie seems determined to rib at her, to talk over the top of her, to make the students laugh at her expense, to correct each and every thing she says. She does not let anyone in on just how disappointed she is not to call Bernie a friend.

*

The semester rolls along as quick as it always does and before she can blink her desk is covered in assessments. She spends a fortnight buried under that pile of marking, pushing through the paperwork for her other classes until she gets to the final and smallest pile of assessments she had already split with Bernie.

She starts marking, finds an overwhelming majority of students in her tutorials reference Wolfe in their response and not a single one to her own work. Something so trivial should not matter, but it does. It sticks at Serena until she has to stop marking. 

Bernie drops by the day after, sticks her head around the door, asks to compare their grading patterns. 

“I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page before I gave them back,” she says cheerfully, walking into the room after Serena has given her a nod to come in. 

“You can’t hand them back yet,” Serena snaps. “I’m still working through my sets and it wouldn’t be fair to the students to give some back and not others.”

“Oh!” Bernie seems a bit shocked. “Yes, of course, you’re right, I should have checked.”

Serena glares at her from behind her pile of marking. Bernie seems to notice the marking at least, if not the scowl. 

“Is that them?” Bernie queries of the pile looming between them. “I could take those, if you like? Might move things along a bit quicker,” Bernie adds, half a chuckle lightening her voice. 

Serena flusters at the insinuation she is slower, too slow and in need of help, that she is incapable. Then she decides to shove that gift back in the horse’s mouth. 

“Yes, actually, that’s a wonderful idea,” she says, sickly sweet and smiling. “And I’ve found quite a lot of my Thursday class leant towards your topics.” She gets up out of her chair, crouches by the wall behind the desk to pick up yet another pile of marking. “I think you’d be better suited to mark these as well.” She drops the pile onto her desk to punctuate the sentence.

Bernie blinks, confused, tries at a small smile. “If you think that’s best?”

Serena feels the unease in the room and pushes it away along with the marking pile over the desk towards Bernie. “I do.”

Bernie does not push back, just nods slightly, and gathers up the papers. She leaves the office with the stack in her hands sitting shoulder high and the door still open. 

Serena huffs at Bernie’s departure and tries to settle herself to the remainder of her papers. Keeps getting distracted by the draft blowing through the office, until Serena gets fed up with the noise and the drop in temperature and gets up to slam the door shut. She sees the doorframe shake and hears the windows tremble at the force. She feels a little better after that and sets about smashing through the rest of her marking.

She uses the extra free hours she has wrangled herself to pore over a stack of books as high as her hip. She gets so caught up in research and balancing her class schedule that she barely even bothers to find time to socialise. She spends most of her evenings at home with dinner for one and wine for three and only her cat to keep her company.

Though she does join the rest of her colleagues at the pub after a particularly boring midterm board meeting, despite the fact Bernie is the one who insists she comes, and orders herself the largest glass of shiraz they are legally allowed to give her. 

She sits down during the middle of a group discussion and across from Bernie in the middle of a joke; the whole table laughs at the punchline and Serena gets the full force of Bernie’s smile. It is almost blinding and Serena cannot help but smile back before she starts sipping at her wine.

Serena will admit it is nice to relax after such a boring meeting and contents herself with floating in and out of conversation as she pleases. 

She tunes back in after staring at the corner bracket of the skirting board to hear Bernie and Michael in the middle of a conversation about the politics of ending relationships. Serena stays tuned in as they start trying to one up each other with recounts of their own worst ways to get dumped.

Serena giggles as Michael wins hands down with story about a previously unknown husband coming home to find them in bed, and commiserates with Bernie’s long distance phone call from the usually locally located girlfriend. 

Bernie smiles at Serena, at her show of sympathy, with enough kindness to loosen Serena’s tongue and share one of own disastrous experiences. 

“I got a letter, once,” she adds when the table hushes after the last story. They both turn towards her as she elaborates. “Jammed in a book—one of _my_ books, mind, she’d written it crying on the couch while I was in my study—and slipped it into a book on the coffee table before heading out for drinks with friends.” 

Michael mutters a cuss and end up choking on his beer. Serena smirks. She softens when she sees Bernie looking at her, frowning and pensive. 

“I take it she didn’t intend on coming back?” Bernie asks and Serena shakes her head. “So she left and just, expected you to find it at some point?” 

“Oh, no!” Serena flaps her hand and picks up her glass. “She sent me a text as soon as she’d gone telling me where to look.”

Michael blinks over the rim of his pint and coughs again.

“Mate,” he says with more seriousness than Serena has ever heard from him. “That’s fucked.”

The laughter that bursts out of Serena’s mouth is unexpected and delightful. So is the goose honk she hears somewhere over to her right. She starts and looks over only to realises the noise is coming from _Bernie_. She gapes and so does Michael and it only makes Bernie laugh harder, which sets them all off again. 

Serena is sure she has tears streaming down her face by the time they manage to calm themselves down. Michael heads off to get the next round still wheezing, while Bernie titters off to a few half chuckles and Serena wipes her eyes.

The two of them sit in exhausted, post-laugher bliss for a few moments before Bernie’s face shifts as she turns in her seat. The air thickens. Serena looks at Bernie looking at her and already knows what she is about to say. 

“That is a rotten way to end things though,” Bernie starts tentatively, face scrunched slightly and studying Serena. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” Serena replies before the pity on Bernie’s face can get to her too much. “She was a rubbish shag. I only dated her because she was tall.”

Bernie blinks, the picture of surprise and mild shock, before Serena’s lips curl into a smirk, and then both dissolve into another fit of giggles. 

“Serena, that’s a terrible reason to date someone,” Bernie wheezes out, voice still thick with peels of laughter.

Serena feels her own laughter catch in her throat. 

“It’s no worse than dating someone because they’re attractive, or you like the sound of their voice,” she claps back, voice as thick as Bernie’s, her eyes looking downwards and glinting. “Or because you’re lonely and they’re nice and already interested.” She swirls the wine in her glass, seeing how close to rim she can get the liquid without losing any over the side. “What’s the harm in giving someone a go, to try and see where it might lead, even if it doesn’t turn out in the long run?” She tilts her head back to swallow the last third of her glass. “Besides, it’s not like we were together very long,” she adds as she puts her empty glass back on the table with resolute clunk. **“** It hardly matters now.”

“Oh, Serena, I didn’t mean—”

“Next round!” Michael interrupts, sliding the tray of drinks onto the table and back into his seat. “And don’t all look at once, but that bartender is _fine,_ ” he adds with a leer towards the service area. 

Serena subtly glances in that direction and purses her lips when she sees a rather pretty, rather young brunette exactly Michael’s type standing behind the bar. 

Bernie, on the other hand, turns almost her whole body towards the bar to stare and does not even bother lowering her voice. “Who’s the hot one?”

Serena rolls her eyes so hard she thinks they might fall out her mouth. Picks up her wine and takes a hearty mouthful as Spence chastises Bernie. Shares a knowing look with the brunette when she glances over their way as the other two draw attention to themselves. 

She only stays to pay for the round after that—she needs to get home soon but it is well past her shout and it is only fair—then makes to leave once she has finished her drink. Leaves just like she always does: puts the glass on the table, her coat on her shoulders, and walks away without a word.

She thinks she hears her name called as she heads towards the door, thinks it sounds a little like Bernie’s voice saying goodbye. But when she turns Bernie appears to be on the listening end of another seemingly deep conversation with Michael and Serena must have imagined it because no one notices her leave.

*

The semester continues through mid-term and towards the end of semester in much the same fashion: with Serena continuing to regret agreeing to share a student body and the occasional tutorial room with Bernie, because it makes Serena seethe to see time and time again just how much the students prefer Bernie. The same goes for how much their colleagues prefer Bernie, and all the invitations to drinks after work that get extended to Bernie and only ever to Serena at Bernie’s kind but obviously pitying insistence.

The jabs and prods Bernie slings her way do not help matters, the subtle ribs she sends whenever they interact in person. Serena always manages civility, even friendliness on occasion, before Bernie inevitably does yet one more thing to irk Serena. Like the way she smirks whenever Serena ventures an opinion, a tiny smile on her lips as she listens to Serena talk. The way she hums as she is listening, as if to agree with Serena, only to open her mouth and contradict her. The way Bernie interrupts her while she is working, dropping by unannounced. 

It is usually after one of Serena’s tutes when Bernie pops her head through the door, attempting to distract Serena from work with the suggestion of coffee. Serena always says “not today” or “another time”—though she will admit she does appreciate the mixed berry turnovers Bernie brings her whenever Pulses mixes up Bernie’s order and she ends up with two instead of one, much more than she could eat. Sometimes Serena wonders how one person can be so lucky with cafe mistakes but she always has better things to be thinking about and never puts much thought into it—and always ushers Bernie out of her office as quickly as she can go.

Not that Serena wants her _completely_ gone, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Irrespective of their disputes, Serena does like not being the only woman in the department anymore and when asked, Serena freely admits that Bernie is an asset to the department and the school. 

Because at the end of the day it is not _what_ Bernie says—which Serena finds herself agreeing with more often than not—but just the _way_ she says it—invariably over the top of Serena—that grates at Serena: grates at her nerves, itching just under the skin, leaving her twitching and tense when Bernie is nearby and still riled up long after Bernie has gone. Serena has never had a colleague who knows how to get under her skin so easily and it infuriates her to no end. 

Nevertheless, she knows can handle it all just fine until the exam period is over and the semester ends. She vaguely hopes they might even get on as colleagues once they stop sharing a classroom. She handles it all with enviable grace until it gets to a week before semester breaks and Serena realises she could never have handled any of this at all.

*

She has been waiting in line at _Pulses_ in a pre-coffee stupor for far too long when she hears her name said just behind her.

“Serena?” She turns to find Bernie standing behind her. “It is you!” she says with a smile. “I wasn’t sure, your hair looks different from the back—is it longer?—it’s rather nice, hello!” Bernie blurts out in a rush with a lopsided grin.

Serena blinks, trying to catch up with Bernie’s breakneck speed in her pre-caffeine haze.

“Morning,” she says, trying for a pleasant greeting but ending up with a growl. Bernie’s face falls a little. “Sorry, coffee machine at home broke yesterday, been waiting for what feels like eons.”

“Oh, I see,” Bernie nods slowly, sagely, smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. The line shuffles forward and they both take a few steps. Bernie ends up a touch closer than necessary, bouncing gently on her toes. “So,” she starts after a few awkward moments of silence. “Early class?”

“No, no,” Serena says with a shake of her head. “Just a tonne of marking to get through, I thought I’d come in early and get some finished before classes later,” she pauses as the line shuffles forward again. “Ah, you? Class, or…” she lets the question hang as Bernie steps towards her again.

“Something like that,” she says cryptically, eyes daring Serena to bite. She would have too, if not for the line shuffling forward again and Serena finally making it to the front of the line.

“Double shot latte, quick as you can,” Serena orders, pays, goes to stand to the side to wait. 

She watches while Bernie orders, nothing else particularly interesting to look at, smiles slightly as the barista hands over a paper bag full pastry. She begins steeling herself for more chitchat as Bernie walks over to join her. She opens her mouth to start the conversation but Bernie gets there first. 

“Nice skirt,” Bernie says, looking her up and down, before stopping to stand in front of her. 

“Spring cleaning,” Serena replies with a shrug, smoothing her hand over the black material over her hip.

“It goes well with the shoes,” Bernie adds, nodding downwards and Serena follows to look at her kitten heels as Bernie keeps talking. “Never managed to pull off leopard print myself, but it looks good on you.”

Serena looks up preparing herself to reply with polite gratitude. She looks up to see Bernie smiling warmly at her, that puppy-like grin Serena has seen brighten many a boring meeting, and cannot help by smile back. She opens her mouth to comment only to have her the barista call her name instead.

“Sorry, I’ve got to…” Serena trails off, taking a step towards the counter, pointing to her destination.

“It’s quite alright,” Bernie says, stepping aside with a smile as Serena walks past. “See you in class,” she mutters as Serena tosses up whether to add sugar today.  

Serena snaps the lid on firm and turns, prepared to return the favour and wait beside Bernie for her order, only to find she is already halfway across the cafe, brown paper bag hanging heavy from her hand. 

Serena furrows her brow, confused about why Bernie would wait if not for coffee, then sneers when she realises Bernie left without saying a word. 

*

Serena walks into the lecture hall later that day and barely bats an eyelid at the abysmal turnout. The semester is almost over and everyone is tired. They all know the only reason anyone is here is to ask questions about the final assignment and the exam that follows. 

Serena has everything prepared, ready to address everything they could want to know, and waits for them to ask the right questions to get the information they need. Bernie, on the other hand, has a completely different idea. Pours off advice and encouragement to the whole room as if it is the easiest thing in the world, and every word sounds like she means it, too. 

The mouthy ginger from Serena’s Thursday tutorial has a query which Serena answers in as much detail as she thinks necessary. She nods when she feels she has covered everything and so does the student. 

Only Bernie does not agree, opens her mouth to add her own thoughts, and practically contradicts everything Serena has just said. 

Serena bites her tongue and cannot help the death stare she shoots at Bernie. Not that Bernie notices, of course, just keeps on talking while Serena seethes for the rest of the lecture: another ten minutes where Serena stays silent and lets Bernie handle the last few raised hands.

The clock ticks five to the hour and Serena dismisses them all abruptly. Gathers up her papers, shoves them under her elbow, looks up to address the class again. Wishes them all good luck on their final exam and says they can email her up until the weekend before the test if they have any queries.

“If anyone has any other immediate questions, feel free to address them to Doctor Wolfe,” she says, voice as level as she can make it, and pivots towards the door. 

She feels her fringe bounce against her eyebrows as she strides out of the classroom without a backwards glance, for all she hears the students murmur as she smacks the door open, and is halfway up the corridor before the door swings shut again. 

She goes straight to her office, takes the stairs—hoping to burn off some of the excess energy frizzing inside her—and unlocks her office with slightly trembling hands. She slams the door behind her, strides across the room, and plonks herself down in her chair. She takes a few deep breaths, settles herself—the walking really did help—pulls a paper from the stack and picks up her pen. 

She manages to get halfway down the page before her mind circles back to the theatre hall and she starts fuming again. 

“How dare she come into my classroom and undermine me like that,” she spits into the empty room. 

_It’s hers too_ , the rational part of her brain reminds her, but Serena is really not interested in what that part of her has to say. She throws the pen down on the desk. 

“How _dare_ she make a fool of me in front of our students!” She pushes away from the desk to pace. “It isn’t enough that they love her, she has to get them to hate me as well!”

Serena fumes and paces, verbally lashing out at the idea of Bernie in the otherwise silent room. Eventually she runs out of steam, after a good five minutes of ranting, and knows she needs to calm herself. She cannot get any work done like this so she makes herself a cup of tea and nibbles on a biscuit before sitting back down at her desk. 

She pulls the paper already spotted with red pen and sips at her tea as she works through the pages. She is halfway through the essay when someone knocks at the door. 

The noise startles her, makes her jump, and she spills biscuit crumbs all over her desk. She is thankful she already finished the tea, otherwise the desk would have been soaked.

“Oh, for the love of god!” she hisses under her breath and raises her head to shout at the door. “What!”

“It’s me, ah, Bernie. I wanted, if you’re not busy—can I come in, please?”

“Yes, fine, come in!” Serena huffs, then realises the door ought to be locked and pushes herself out of her chair. She is halfway across the floor when the door swings open and she remembers she slammed it shut without locking it when she came in. Bernie peers into the office, one hand wrapped round the door at shoulder height and the other on the handle, and stops when she sees Serena standing in the middle of the room. 

She glares at Bernie. “What do you want?”

Bernie tenses, drops her hands and walks in, closes the door behind her. “I, wanted to talk to you, about before…in the lecture hall?”

Serena huffs, crosses her arms, barely resists tapping her feet. “What about it?”

“I, ah, I got the impression that maybe you were cross, and I can see now I was right, and I, wanted to apologise, if I did something to upset you,” Bernie rambles on, eyes flicking from Serena’s feet to her arms to around the room and back to her face. “Sorry, for whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.”

Serena sees red. How dare Bernie come in here, puppy-like and contrite and just _apologise_. Apologise and pretend she doesn’t even know what it was for. How _dare_ she. 

“‘For whatever I’ve done’,” Serena mimics before snarling, “you know what you did, what you’ve been doing since you got here, and I don’t want your pathetic excuse of an apology.” Serena jerks her chin towards the door. “Close it on the way out.”

“Serena! I don’t? I wasn’t,” Bernie gapes, frowning and bewildered, and does not move. “ _What_?” 

“I said out.” Serena knows it is cold, even for her, but she is tired of being made a fool of by someone she hoped would be a friend. She turns away and waves a dismissive hand at Bernie as she takes a few steps back towards her chair.

“No,” Bernie says and it is the hardest Serena has ever heard her voice. So hard it rings out through the office and stops Serena in her tracks. “Not until you tell me what you’re talking about.”

“God, if you _insist,”_ Serena berates, letting her head fall backwards and talking the ceiling. She turns with a dramatic shake of the head and flail of her arm, rounds on Bernie.

She bears down on her, rattling off every single one of Bernie’s transgressions since they met until she is blue in the face.

If she were in a better state Serena might notice Bernie’s face flicking from confusion to disbelief to horror and finally concern as she spoke. As it is, Serena is too keyed up to notice the rollercoaster of emotion as it played out on Bernie’s face until she finally runs out of steam and stops to glare at Bernie.

“Serena, I, I’m so sorry.” Serena starts, shocked, when she sees Bernie looking back at her with soft eyes, shining like she is _actually_ sorry. “I didn’t realise I was upsetting you,” Bernie adds, still looking at Serena with those wide puppy-dog eyes.

Serena wonders for a moment if maybe she actually did not know. Then thinks a little harder and dismisses the thought, because _how_ could she have not known?

“Bullshit!” Serena hisses, fuming again. “And save me the feigned ignorance, I’m not interested. I don’t need niceties, but I _will_ not abide being humiliated by a colleague in front of our students!”

“No, Serena, it isn’t, it was never, not deliberately, I—” 

If Serena were in a better state she might see the anguish on Bernie’s face, but she is too keyed up to register any more than her own anger, her own disappointment.

“Really?” She scoffs. “Then why have you spent the semester making me look like some strict, uptight old woman with an obsession with rules and a rod stuck up my arse?”

“I haven’t!” Bernie rebuffs and Serena rolls her eyes with a sneer. “Besides,” Bernie adds, and her tone shifts, a touch dismissive. “Nobody would think that in the first place if you’d just loosen your grip.”

Serena inhales sharply—part of her had hoped she had been wrong about how her students saw her—and sinks even deeper into that seething pit of anger she has been carrying with her for weeks.

“Excuse me?” Serena whispers, low and hard, as she takes a step towards Bernie. “You would do well to remember who you’re talking to,” she snarls and watches for Bernie’s reaction.

Bernie nostrils flare as anger flashes through her eyes and something shifts in Bernie herself. Something in the square of her shoulders, the length of her breaths, in the line of her mouth. She seems to take up more space now than she did a moment ago and still standing in the same spot in the middle of Serena’s office. As if she was curled up and half wilted while Serena spoke and has only just unfurled to the fullest extent now after Serena pushed just that little bit too far. 

She finally understands what Ric meant by “commanding presence”.

“So would you, Doctor Campbell,” Bernie sneers, pushing too, farther into Serena’s space. 

Serena does not budge, refuses to let Bernie shift her in any way, refuses to back down despite the fact she knows this is getting out of hand. She never has been one to back down from a fight before and she won’t start now. 

“Who am I talking to, then, _Berenice_?” Serena challenges, moving just a bit closer and leaving not even a foot between them. She sucks in a breath to steel herself. She is in this for the long haul and not backing down now. She refuses to back away. “Just who the _hell_ do you think you are?” 

She delights when Bernie does not respond. She works her tongue against the top of her mouth, tension tight in her shoulders, and breathes deep. She holds the gaze, certain she is ready for whatever Bernie is going to throw at her, so certain she is ready for anything.

Until she licks her lips wet.

Bernie’s eyes flick down to Serena’s mouth and her face shifts again. The look on her face is like nothing Serena has ever seen on Bernie before. Something Serena has only seen a few times in her life: on the first night of her honeymoon, adorned in lace lingerie and little else; in the still and quiet of the moments after she made Fleur come for the first time; on the face of a Canadian RHD student she had met at a conference and found was rather fond of her work and even fonder of her face and fondest of his face between her thighs. 

Hunger _:_ unbridled, unrestrained, _unfathomable_. Since when has Bernie _ever_ even _hinted_ she might look at Serena like that?

It should terrify her, to see such want evident on a face so close to hers, a face that was practically spitting insults at her a moment ago. It does not.

The shiver that runs up her spine has nothing at all to do with fear. She feel her jaw slacken and a bubble forms between Serena’s now parted lips. She feels it pop as Bernie’s breath ghosts over her lip and Serena lets out a tiny whimper. 

Bernie’s eyes flick back up to hers and she moves forward into Serena, moves both of them back towards the desk. Serena’s knees give way and she falls against the edge with her legs spread wide, kissing Bernie before she can even draw breath.

She grips at the collar of Bernie’s jacket, unsure how she got here but desperate to keep it happening now that it is. She slides her knee against Bernie’s leg and pulls her closer, feels Bernie’s fingers grip bruising at her hips, and moans into her mouth. 

Then Bernie is pulling back, back and away, away from Serena; leaving her with parted thighs and empty hands and humming lips.The itch under her skin burns stronger than ever.

Bernie stumbles away. Waves her hands with apologies falling from her mouth as she stumbles a foot away. Serena watches the panic wash over Bernie, as she stumbles another foot and then two, as if she lost herself for a moment and is only now realising what she had done after the fact. 

_I wish she’d done more_ , the thought appears fully formed and in an instant in Serena’s mind. _I want her to do more_ , she thinks, and it leaves Serena breathless. She wants this, wants Bernie, wants her now. Only Bernie is turning, trying to run from the office, and that is the very last thing Serena wants.

Serena pushes off the desk edge and practically sprints across her office. Her arm shoots out, hand grabbing at a forearm to hold for a second—just long enough to pause Bernie in her tracks—before dropping her hand away as if it burns: it does burn, the feel of Bernie’s bare skin on the palm of Serena’s hand, just for a second, but the searing of her skin will be worth it if Bernie does not leave. 

“Don’t go.” It was supposed to be a plea; it comes a demand. One Bernie follows, evidently, as she slowly turns to face Serena again.

Her face is a storm, open and raging, and her eyes even fiercer. Serena wonders how Bernie could have kept all this hidden, _if_ she kept all this hidden. How could she have missed all of this? She has to look away, down at the floor, away from Bernie’s headed gaze.

Serena tries again, gentler, takes another step forward, still looking at her shoes. Slowly slips her fingers between Bernie’s. She sucks in a breath when she sees Bernie tangle them together; lets it out, shuddering as she feels Bernie squeeze. 

She looks at Bernie again, sees the want run right through her and need written all over her face, and gapes. Throws herself at Bernie with reckless abandon and them both against the door. 

She does not register her hand in Bernie’s hair any more than she does Bernie’s hand tight around her waist, not until she is mewling against Bernie’s lips and sliding her tongue into Bernie’s mouth. She has the sense to lock the door, feels herself push them harder against the wood. She feels Bernie groan against her, push against her even harder, and Serena lets her. 

She stumbles backwards, bringing Bernie’s lips and the rest of her along too, grip on her jacket collar tighter than ever as she missteps in her kitten heels. For a moment she thinks she will fall but Bernie’s hands on her waist keep her steady, take her weight off the floor, leave her hopping backwards towards the desk. She loses a shoe. She can feel her toes scrape across the carpet as her feet barely touch the ground and her thighs bump against the edge of the desk, stopping her in her tracks. Bernie careens into her, topples them over slightly and Serena lets go of the coat to brace herself. 

Bernie falls, shoots an arm out to catch herself, and breaks away. Looks at Serena, at her kiss bruised lips, parted and panting, at her owl-wide eyes, sparkling and smiling. 

Serena looks back at Bernie, dishevelled and delicious, looking at her with wide, wanting eyes.

“Sorry,” Serena says with a giggle. 

“Are you kidding?” Bernie says, too breathless to be outraged, “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.”

Serena blinks. “You, you have?” 

“Since you had that rant about alpacas,” Bernie admits, sheepish smile.

Serena smiles at the memory and then frowns, sits up straight on the desk, unwittingly pushes herself harder against Bernie’s lithe frame. 

“Bernie, that was _months_ ago.” _How_ could she have missed this for so long?

“Was it?” Bernie asks, definitely more interested in the curve of Serena’s neck now within reach of her mouth that plotting a timeline of her own attraction. 

“Yes, obviously, or I wouldn’t ha—” her retort gets swallowed by Bernie’s mouth on hers again and she loses her train of thought.

The kiss presses Serena against her mahogany desk, hands roaming curves and gently tracing hemlines, sliding underneath the edges of top layers, until Serena’s hands skirting under Bernie’s jacket become a little more insistent and she starts to the push the material off her shoulders.

She pauses, material bunched in her hands and around Bernie’s elbows, and breaks away to look at Bernie. She smiles when she notices Bernie’s mouth chasing hers before she opens her eyes to look back at Serena. 

“Okay?” Serena asks, voice unexpectedly shaky.

“Very,” Bernie replies, panting slightly, evident want shining bright in her eyes. 

Serena feels the pit of her stomach fall through the floor. Feels her eyes go wide and her mouth go slack and a tiny noise of want work its way up her throat.

Bernie frowns at the sound, at Serena’s face, pulls back to give her space. 

“We don’t—if you don’t want to—we can stop,” Bernie reassures her, eyes studying Serena, her face unsure. 

“I don’t want to stop,” Serena breathes out in a rush, grips tighter at the jacket material in her hands. She blinks owlishly and feels herself smile. She sucks in a breath, steadies her voice. “I want this—you—here, _now_. Please?” 

“God, yes,” Bernie crashes their mouths together with a growl. Serena squeaks, delighted, kisses her back just as hard.

The jacket crumples on the carpet around Bernie’s feet.

Theybreathe ragged, tongues and teeth and fingers and fists clawing at clothing, desperate for some part, _any_ part, of either of them to make contact with skin. Serena does not rip at Bernie’s shirt but it is a close call. Her shirt does not fare much better and she can feel her shoe hanging off her toes. She kicks it off and slides a stockinged heel up the back of Bernie’s jean clad leg.

She drops her leg and brings it forward to rest her knee between Bernie’s thighs. Bernie moans,  spreads her legs, slides forward with her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, and whimpers.

Serena watches the ticks on Bernie’s face as she grinds down gently, feels the rough of Bernie’s jeans rubs against her stockings. She whines, wants to feel Bernie’s heat on her skin.

She pushes Bernie back, pushes her off, lets her legs dangle over the table as she pulls off Bernie’s belt and tosses it on the floor. “Take them off.”

Bernie nods, tangles her fingers with Serena’s, smiles. Leans forward to kiss her fierce until Serena moans, low and guttural, then steps away.

Nothing happens. 

Serena cracks open a heavy eyelid, only to find Bernie looking at her like she wants to devour her but still not undressed.  

“This is not what I asked for,” Serena says, displeasure evident.

Bernie smirks, steps forward again, puts her hands on Serena’s hips. “I’ve got something better.”

“Oh?” Serena loses the rest of her sentence when Bernie pulls her off the desk and puts Serena’s feet back on the ground. Serena huffs as Bernie spins her around and shuffles her around the corner of the desk to stand where her chair would normally sit. Bernie grinds her hips into Serena’s arse.

“Yes?” Bernie whispers against her ear. 

“Please,” Serena moans as Bernie bends her over the desk. Her hand lands on marked up pages and she slips slightly; Bernie’s hand slides up into her curls, catches her from falling too far and she grunts. 

“Good?” Bernie asks and Serena nods, moans again as the movement pulls harder on her scalp, shivers when she feels Bernie’s breath on her neck again. “More?”

“Yes,” Serena gasps as Bernie pulls at her scalp, searing and delicious. She follows the pressure backwards, lets her eyes flutter shut as she arches backwards to rest the back of her head against Bernie’s collarbone. She opens her eyes to see Bernie smiling down at her and not moving.

“Please?” Serena begs, when Bernie keeps staring at her, at her mouth, and still not moving. “Touch me, please.”

She is embarrassed at the shakiness of her voice for all of two seconds before Bernie’s mouth is on her earlobe as her fingers untuck Serena’s shirt. She shivers when Bernie’s fingers scrape over her stomach and up to her chest, over the curve of her breast to cup her gently. 

Serena sighs, arcs her back more to push her chest forward, and lets her head tilt to the side. She moans as she feels Bernie’s lips move down and over the back of her neck and thumb draw circles around her areola through the lace of her bra. 

It’s lovely and gentle and sweet and not even close to what she wants. 

“Harder,” she says, pure steel and demand. “Now.” 

She groans when Bernie complies, fingers on her nipple almost harsh with their pressure. Moans when the other hand slides over her hip and under her skirt and up her thigh. Keens when Bernie shifts slightly to the side and slides her hand over Serena’s arse to cup between her legs. Sobs when Bernie presses hard but it’s not enough, not through the thickness of stockings and knickers. She wants to feel Bernie’s fingers slide slick over her core and tells her as much.

She sees Bernie’s nostrils flare and her teeth worry at her bottom lip and then the detailing of her desk as Bernie pushes her over it. Serena jerks, surprised, catches herself before she falls to her elbows. Holds herself high on slightly trembling arms as Bernie’s hands run over the small of her back.  

She feels Bernie bunch the skirt up over her hips, hook her thumbs under the band of her tights and knickers, and slowly ease them over Serena’s arse and down her thighs. Bernie crouches beside her as Serena steps out of them, one foot at a time, slaps at Serena’s ankle lightly to spread them further.  

Bernie slowly edges her way back up Serena’s leg, running her tongue and gently scraping teeth over the now bare flesh. Serena’s arms shake as Bernie nuzzles against the backs of her thighs and cries out when Bernie sinks her teeth into warm flesh.

“Hush you,” Bernie scolds gently as she stands up straight. “Do you want everyone hearing you?”

“Fuck them, I don’t care,” Serena snaps back, breathless as Bernie runs her fingertips over the curve of her bare arse. “They’d probably like hearing it anyway.”

“Now really, Serena,” Bernie chides, as she palms at Serena’s right cheek. “That’s no way to speak of your colleagues.” 

“Fuck you,” she says. _Fuck me_ , she thinks, _please_. Because Bernie has stripped her bare and spread her wide and still has not touched her yet. Because Bernie not touching her is all she think about. 

She is so keyed up she can feel her legs starting to shake and she is certain she is embarrassingly wet. Slips a hand between her thighs to find out for certain only to have Bernie’s hand around her wrist, stopping her at the crux of her hipbone.

“I don’t think so,” Bernie teases, holding their hands steady and away from Serena’s throbbing cunt. 

She could scream. “Stop teasing and fuck me.” 

Bernie shifts behind her and something shifts between them. Bernie slides Serena’s hand lower and through her folds—she was right, she is soaking—and back out again. Raises Serena’s hand up and her fingers to Bernie’s mouth. 

Bernie licks them clean and Serena gasps at the feeling of a hot mouth on her skin and the swirl of a tongue between her fingers.

“God, you taste wonderful. I can’t wait to eat you out,” Bernie whispers in her ear after she has released Serena’s hand and returned it to the desk.

Serena twists at the hip to look over her shoulder at Bernie. “Well, then, I wouldn’t dream of standing in your way, if it’s something you really, really want.”

She moves to turn around, intent on guiding Bernie’s face between her thighs and finally putting her mouth to good use. Finds she cannot move, body still trapped against the desk by Bernie’s body pressed tight against her back, their hands joined and resting on the desk.

“No, not yet.” Serena shivers as Bernie’s breath runs over her neck, at the implication of later, at Bernie’s fingertip tracing over her forearm to settle on her hip. She hums, prodding Bernie to clarify, tilts her head to the side as Bernie’s lips graze at the corner of her jaw. “First I want to feel you on my fingers.” Bernie tenses her hand around her hipbone and Serena gasps. “I want to fuck you over this desk.”  

Serena moans, nods vigorously, spreads her legs even wider. Bernie takes the invitation and finally, _finally_ slides her own fingers over Serena’s slick, swollen centre.

“Oh, god, _Serena_ ,” Bernie whispers, so close to a prayer it has Serena canting her hips. Now it has been offered she needs it. She needs Bernie inside her. 

Bernie needs to be inside her too, apparently, because there she is, sliding in knuckle by knuckle and back out again, coating her fingers sticky. Serena feels Bernie’s free hand in her hair again and wrenching her back arched.

“God, you feel amazing.” Bernie’s breath is hot over the shell of her ear as she works her fingers between Serena’s legs. Serena nods. She does feel amazing, full of Bernie’s fingers. Bernie chuckles. “Do you like this?” Bernie asks and she keeps nodding. “Is this what you want?”

Serena stops nodding so fast, slows down and stops altogether, because this is not quite what she wants. She shakes her head, because she cannot trust her voice just yet.

“Is there something else you want?” Bernie asks, every bit as gentle as the fingers between her legs, and Serena nods. “Tell me,” Bernie urges. “Tell me what you like.”

Serena whimpers, nodding, tries to form words as Bernie’s fingers keep moving in and out of her.

“More,” she gasps. “Please, I want more of you.”

Bernie adds a finger, three knuckles wide and stretching. “Okay?” 

Serena nods and pushes herself deeper onto Bernie’s fingers, feels herself open up and adjust, rocks back against Bernie’s hand. She moans, writhes, works herself harder; it is so good but just not enough. 

“Faster, please,” she begs and gasps as Bernie quickens her pace. “Oh, god, _Bernie,_ please.”

“What do you want?” 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

“I already am,” Bernie leers and twist _just_ so and Serena writhes.

“Harder! I want you to fuck me har—oh, _god_ ,” she cries out as Bernie begins to pummel her. 

She cants her hips in time, pushing back against her hand.

“More, please,” Serena begs as Bernie pounds into her, faster than before. “Harder, _god_ , yes!” 

Bernie’s hand between her legs is brutal, almost vicious, and it burns so good. Serena keens, cries out.

“Too rough?” Bernie asks, easing off before Serena’s had a chance to answer. 

“No,” she sobs, shaking her head and steadying herself against the desk. “It was just right, _oh_ , just like that, god, yes, _just_ like tha— _ah_!”

Serena comes, cries, _finally_ , shaking and almost screaming as waves pulse through her. Comes back to herself and falls heavy onto her elbows; Bernie catches her before she hits the desk, finally stilling her hand. Serena pants heavily, vaguely aware she has made a mess of her desk; gasps as Bernie slips her fingers from her cunt and cannot bring herself to care in the slightest.

She feels something rasp up her throat and tumble out her mouth and it takes her few seconds to realise she is laughing, low and deep and loud. She feels lighter than she has in months. She sucks in a breath and pushes herself standing. Stretches out her back, feels her spine pop and her muscles hum, and sighs contented. 

“God, I feel so _good,_ ” she mumbles out, still stretching high; feels Bernie’s hands on her waist, over her stomach, her lips on her neck. 

“Yes, you do,” Bernie whispers against the shell of her ear.  

Serena shivers, pulls away, turns in Bernie’s arms and pushes her away slightly. She leans against the desk to take the weight off her own shaky legs, rakes her eyes over Bernie and beams wide. 

Bernie smiles back at first, bright and blinding, then loses some of her shine. She reaches forward to smooth down Serena’s skirt with a crease in the middle of her brow before taking a proper step back out of reach. Serena tries not to pout at the loss and watches as Bernie frowns and works her jaw hard, as if chewing on a mouthful of words before she can make them a sentence. The air thickens.

“Do you, ah, want to grab a drink?” Bernie finally says. “I think we should talk.”

Serena tenses, pushes off the desk, tucks in her shirt. She has spent months thinking that every word that came out of Bernie’s mouth was a jab, a gripe, an insult; spent months thinking insults about Bernie that she is grateful never made it out of her own mouth: two conversations running concurrent to give the impression of just the one. Bernie is right, they ought to talk.

“A drink sounds good,” Serena agrees with a curt nod. She chances a glance at Bernie through lowered lashes. Sees the relief flow over her face at Serena acceptance. Feels herself relax at the sight, lets herself look at Bernie properly. “Actually, a drinks sounds lovely,” she says with a smile, voice soft and a touch hopeful.

Bernie beams. Looks down to tuck her shirt back into her jeans. Serena watches nimble fingers she knows are still warm from her own heat darting around Bernie’s hips; clamps her thighs together as another wave of arousal washed through her. 

“But it’ll have to wait,” Serena says, voice low, eyes glinting. “There’s something I need to do first.”

“You have?” Bernie looks up with her brow furrowed and sees Serena’s face. “Oh. _Oh._ ” She licks her lips and plays coy. “And, ah, what would that something be?”

“You,” Serena says simply, steps forward to hook a finger into the top of Bernie’s jeans, pulls her close. Bernie bounces against her hips before bringing her hands back to rest by Serena’s neck. “If you’d like?”

Bernie’s eyes light up and she nods, leans forward to kiss Serena, hands in the curls behind her ears. Serena moans into her mouth and untucks Bernie’s shirt again, fingers sure, steady, determined to makes short work of undoing buttons, to brush against warm skin, to fall to the waist of Bernie’s jeans. She pulls back to look at Bernie, unfastens her jeans and pushes them over her hips again, slides her hand under the material and palms at the warm cotton covering Bernie’s arse. 

Bernie pushes her hips into Serena’s, loses her balance slightly and falls forward against Serena, stumbles them both against the desk.

“Oophf—” Serena breaths out as she makes contact with the wooden edge, Bernie pressed firm against her thighs.

“Sorry,” Bernie mumbles as she tries to pull away.

“Don’t be,” Serena whispers, parts her legs, pulls Bernie’s closer. Slides her hand over the jut of Bernie’s hip to cup her through her pants. She can feel the heat of Bernie’s core on the palm of her hands, the wetness soaked through the material damp on her fingers, warm breaths panted over her cheek as Bernie moans softly. 

She feels Bernie’s hand on her wrist, pulling Serena’s hand back, pressing her fingertip to the hot skin just underneath the band of Bernie’s pants.

“Please, Serena,” Bernie begs, soft and wanting. “Touch me.” 

Serena bites her lip to bite back a moan, lowers her hand to scrape through coarse curls and swollen folds, watches Bernie tense her face and whimper. She does moan as Bernie’s hips twitch and cant upwards to push herself against Serena’s fingers. 

Bernie tries to spread her legs, only to find her jeans pull tight. She grunts in frustration and Serena smirks. Slides her hand out, slides Bernie’s jeans over her hips, lets Bernie slide them all the way off. 

Bernie bends down and Serena spies her chair just behind and a few feet over. She jumps off the desk, smiles at Bernie as she straightens, and joins their hands as she brushes past. She sits down, makes herself comfortable, and tugs on Bernie’s hand. Bernie’s eyes go wide and Serena quirks an eyebrow; she barely has a chance to blink before Bernie drops her hand and slides into her lap, resting her palms on Serena’s shoulders to kiss her hard.

Serena moans at the feel of Bernie’s thighs sliding hot over her skin where her skirt has rucked up. Runs her hands over Bernie’s hips, pushes her shirt apart, paws at Bernie’s bare stomach, at the curve of her waist, at the slope of her breast. Pinches a nipple through the thin white material of Bernie’s bra and Bernie breaks away with a gasp. 

“Good?” Serena asks, gently rolling a nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Bernie nods, presses her chest forward and her hips down, rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. 

“Yes.” Bernie whimpers as Serena pinches again. She shifts forward, spreads herself wide, invites Serena in. “ _Please.”_

Serena smirks, takes pity, but not enough to stop teasing. Traces a line down past Bernie’s bellybutton, over her hipbone, down to her knee. Curls her hand, balled up in a loose fist, scrapes the back of her nails all the way back up to rest her palm, hot and heavy, just shy of the crux of Bernie’s thighs. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” she relents, rakes her nails through Bernie’s bush, tugs slightly and smiles at Bernie’s tiny hum. She straighten her fingers, curls them forward to part her lips, slides her middle finger over Bernie’s centre. 

Bernie whines and her hips twitch as fingertips traces over hot, wet flesh, testing just shy of her clit to rest at her entrance, pressure soft and gentle but unmistakable. Bernie keens, cants her hips, sinks down onto Serena’s waiting fingers. 

“God, _Bernie_ ,” Serena moans at the feel of Bernie fluttering around her fingers, at the sight of Bernie in her lap, flushed cheeks and kiss bruised lips and unruly blonde curls, wearing nothing but an undone white button up and plain white bra.

Until Bernie starts rocking her hips, bouncing slightly in her lap, impatient to come. So is Serena, starts moving her hand. She presses her thumb to Bernie’s clit and Bernie lets out a sob, lets her eyes fall shut, lets her head fall forward onto Serena’s shoulder. 

“Serena, I— _oh,_ ” Bernie hums against her collarbone as she ruts against Serena’s hand. “So good, don’t stop, I’m close, _please_ don’t stop.”

“I won’t, I promise, I want you to come.” Serena twists her wrist slightly, flicks her thumb and curls her fingers. “Please come for me, Bernie.” She nuzzles against Bernie’s jaw. “Please?”

Bernie whines, nodding frantically, raises her head. Cups Serena’s face to kiss her, moans in her mouth and snaps her hips in time with Serena’s thrusts. She starts to clench around Serena’s fingers and breaks the kiss.

Serena bites on her bottom lip so hard she thinks it might be bleed as Bernie comes, rigid and still, one tiny cry falling from her open mouth and her forehead resting against Serena’s.

She see Bernie through the waves of her orgasm, gently moving her fingers as Bernie pulses around her knuckles, not stopping until she finally flops against Serena, gasping breathless. Serena kisses away the wet at the corner of Bernie’s eye, her palm still pressed against damp curls, and strokes at her back till her breathing eases.

“So, drink?” Serena asks, light and breezy. Bernie chuckles against Serena’s neck, swats lazily at her shoulder and shifts backwards, nods with a smile. 

Serena gently pulls her fingers from Bernie. Bernie whimpers at the loss, catches Serena’s hand between her own and smirks.

“One last thing.”

Serena watches as Bernie raises Serena’s hand to her mouth, sucks the first knuckle of Serena’s thumb clean before pressing a kiss to the pad. Serena gasps, jaw slack, eyes bright. Bernie hums, moves to take the rest of Serena’s fingers in her mouth. 

Serena whines, shakes her head, tugs her hand away. Bernie drops her grip, brow furrowed and concerned, until her eyes go wide as Serena brings the wet fingertips to her own open mouth and licks them clean. 

Bernie groans, as Serena pulls her fingers out with a wet pop, and surges forward. Kisses her, long and slow and messy, chasing the taste of herself on Serena’s tongue. 

“Okay, maybe two,” Bernie reconsiders.

Serena raises an eyebrow as Bernie slides off her lap, raises both her brows as she sinks to the floor and slides Serena’s leg over her shoulder. Serena gasps as Bernie kisses her way up her thigh, rakes her fingers through Bernie’s messy blonde curls, and urges her on till Bernie’s face is sitting pretty between her legs. 

Bernie peers past Serena, legs spread wide and open, and up at her face, mouth slack and eyes sparkling. She smiles, nuzzles her nose in Serena’s bush, closes her eyes as she breathes in Serena’s scent. She moans, musk sweet and heady in her nose, feels her mouth water and a tug at her hair. She growls, surges forward, buries her face in Serena’s hot, wet cunt and moans as the carpet burns at her knees.


End file.
